


Visions of Sugarplums

by dancinginthecenteroftheworld



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Nutcracker Fusion, F/M, Fluff I guess, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, i don't know what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinginthecenteroftheworld/pseuds/dancinginthecenteroftheworld
Summary: The Nutcracker AU absolutely nobody asked for. Featuring: Jaime as the Nutcracker! Brienne as Clara! Cersei as the Queen of the Land of Sugarplums! Plus more appearances by familiar characters in unexpected places!
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 50
Kudos: 75
Collections: Sevenmas & Other Winter Holidays





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to maevewren who beta'd this piece of madness. 
> 
> The important thing you understand when you read this is that I very sincerely have no idea what I was thinking while I wrote it.

Brienne Tarth loves Christmas, but she hates the Christmas party her father throws every year. Septa Roelle scrubs her clean and forces Brienne out of her breeches and into a corset, always laced too tightly for Brienne to breathe comfortably, and a fancy gown. Galladon gets to wear breeches still, because Galladon is a boy, and Brienne thinks that’s terribly unfair.

It seems especially unfair this year, as Septa Roelle yanks a brush through Brienne’s fine, washed-out blonde hair, stabbing pins in it and shoving a ratt in to try and give as much volume as possible to the elaborate up-do. 

“You’re not a child anymore,” Septa Roell stabs in another pin, hitting Brienne’s scalp. “You’re a young lady, you’ll be coming out this season. You can’t go running around playing at being a boy anymore.”

Brienne knows exactly what Septa Roelle thinks about Brienne’s preference for breeches and swords, and exactly how she feels about Brienne coming out when Brienne isn’t nearly as accomplished at the womanly arts as a young lady is meant to be. But Brienne is seven and ten, and her father wants to have her in society before she’s too old. 

Brienne knows it’s because everyone assumes it will take a very long time to find a match. She hears the whispers. The comments about her manly form, her ugly face, the way she prefers sword fighting and reading history books to embroidery and piano. About how it’s lucky her father has such a large estate, for while Galladon will inherit, Selwyn can provide Brienne with a dowry large enough to ensure some desperate gentleman .

Septa Roelle clearly thinks Brienne should be getting a headstart on her efforts to be a proper society lady. 

By the time everything is done, Brienne is laced into a corset that leaves her unable to bend all the way over, a blue silk dress with a large bustle that keeps her from turning in a tight space, and an off-the-shoulder neckline that only emphasizes how overbroad Brienne’s shoulders are and prevents her from raising her arms all the way.

Selwyn beams and tugs on one of the ringlets Septa Roelle has managed to form in Brienne’s hair (they’ll be gone and limp in a matter of hours) and Galldon laughs at the ribbons tied in her hair. Brienne can’t even chase him in retaliation, not in slightly too-small slippers that make her walk in small, mincing steps. 

At least the Starks are in attendance. Brienne embraces Sansa, shares a suffering glance with Arya and picks up baby Rickon for a hug and a promise to play swords later. Galladon runs off with Robb and Jon, laughing and darting around the ballroom in a way Brienne wishes she still could. 

Brienne suffers through the dancing, watching as Sansa and even Arya are whirled around the floor while Brienne stands near the wall, holding her glass of punch and wondering how nice it must be to dance like that. 

Last year Renly Baratheon had asked her, and Brienne had been filled with hope. But he’s not here now, sent away to be betrothed to a woman Brienne doesn’t know, a high-society woman who lives in London. 

Brienne only dances with her father and young Podrick Payne, who is also one of the few men who will practice sword fighting with her or listen to what she has to say about what she’s reading. 

Brienne brightens when it’s time to pass out presents. But then Septa Roelle is putting her hands on Brienne’s shoulders, fingers digging in painfully, and hisses that this is for children and Brienne is a young lady.

So Brienne watches as her father reaches under the tree and hands out boxes and everyone tears into them. 

Brienne is too old for dolls, and everyone has always laughed at her when she played with them anyway, but she still envies the beautiful doll Sansa receives. It has a china face and perfect gold ringlets and a red dress with ruffles on the skirt. Galladon gets a toy soldier adorned with a tiny, perfect sword made of real steel and Brienne sighs in envy.

Then there’s a throat clearing beside her and Brienne sees her godfather along the wall. He’s dressed in black, like usual, and has been scowling at the room from his spot. Tywin doesn’t like parties either, or most people, but has always been kind to Brienne. He’s even smiled at her once, though Sansa and Galladon don’t believe it when Brienne tells them. 

Tywin hands her a wrapped package and Brienne checks to see Septa Roelle is still across the room before tearing the paper off. Inside she finds a beautifully painted nutcracker, with a fancy red jacket and blue pants and tiny gold buttons painted on in great detail. Tywin stands stiffly when Brienne hugs him in thanks before dashing off to where the others are.

It’s not quite a doll, but the nutcracker is lovely and somehow handsome. If a painted, wooden toy can be handsome. Brienne cradles it in her arms, watching. Sansa is stroking her doll, though Arya has already tossed hers aside in favor of stealing Jon’s toy soldier and playing with Robb and Galladon, marching their toys forth in mock battle. 

Selwyn insists on demonstrating the nutcracker, giving Brienne the sweet inner meat from the walnut, but she takes it back as soon as she can.

Her nutcracker is better than a practical object, Brienne decides. She’s stroking a finger along the handsome black hat he wears when Galladon dashes over, trying to pull the toy out of her hands.

Brienne yanks back, but not before Galladon has enough of a grip that the force sends the nutcracker flying out of both their hands, clattering to the floor with a crash. 

Brienne falls to her knees and collects the toy, one arm now displaced and hanging limply instead of held at perfect attention.

She barely even hears Galladon’s apology as she cries over her ruined present. Brienne takes the ribbons from her hair, blue and white, carefully fashioning a sling and bandage to set the nutcracker back to rights as much as she can.

Even Tywin’s hand on her shoulder, assuring her he can fix it, doesn’t cheer Brienne’s mood. 

Septa Roelle makes Brienne leave the nutcracker behind when the party ends and everyone heads up to bed. Brienne casts a longing look at it, under the tree with the gifts for Christmas morning, but follows along.

Brienne doesn’t know what wakes her, exactly. But it’s late, her room lit only by the light from the moon. Then there’s a noise, a rustling and thump from downstairs, and Brienne sits up in surprise.

She puts on her slippers and picks up the practice sword she has in her room before creeping downstairs, peeking over the bannister. 

Brienne doesn’t see anything, not at first. But then she gets to the living room and blinks. The large grandfather clock in the corner is saying it’s midnight, but the chimes aren’t going. And suddenly there’s a flash of light in the room, like lightning but there’s no storm, and Brienne swears she sees godfather Tywin perched on top of the clock. Which is something her dignified godfather would never do, but then the room is dark and Brienne is stumbling back in shock because the Christmas tree is growing somehow. It stretches taller and taller, looming over her until Brienne could walk under the lowest branches, and Brienne is taller than most men.

There’s another noise, less like a rustling and more like a roaring this time, and Brienne spins around to see a line of mice running at her. But the mice are as big as she is now, or she is as small as they are, Brienne isn’t really sure. Brienne is opening her mouth to scream, but there’s a shout from behind her and a massive clanking as a line of tin soldiers charge forward with their swords drawn to meet the mice.

A mouse runs at Brienne, teeth bared, and Brienne slashes out with her sword on instinct until the mouse falls back.

Nothing makes sense, but Brienne doesn’t have time to worry about it, because there are toy soldiers everywhere and mice pouring out of … the grandfather clock? And Brienne is slashing with her sword and spinning and parrying.

Brienne does gasp when she turns and sees her nutcracker, still with her ribbons tied on his shoulder, sword in his other hand, lunging at mice. 

The nutcracker is larger than the other soldiers, taller, and they seem to follow him as the battle continues. It’s going and Brienne is sure they’ll prevail when a bigger mouse appears, a crown on its head, and all the tin soldiers fall back.

Her nutcracker surges forward bravely, battling the mouse king (or so Brienne supposes, given the crown) and all the other mice scurry back, much as the tin soldiers have.

When the Mouse King knocks the sword from the nutcracker’s hand, Brienne doesn’t think before shouting and tossing him hers.

The nutcracker is fierce, but the Mouse King still pushes him back, and the mouse king is raising his sword to strike and Brienne looks around for a weapon. There is none, and in desperation Brienne takes off a slipper and hurls it toward the mouse as hard as she can. 

The Mouse King collapses, but not before one of the other mice lunges at Brienne, and next thing she knows everything is going dark.

When Brienne wakes up, she’s still lying on the floor in her nightgown and one slipper, but now her nutcracker is kneeling over her.

Only now he’s not a nutcracker but a real man, the most beautiful man Brienne has ever seen, with golden hair falling over his forehead and green eyes like emeralds.

“He’s not dead,” the nutcracker says, looking behind him to where the mouse king is still collapsed. “We have to go!”

Then he’s _picking Brienne up_ , which shouldn’t be possible, nobody has been able to lift Brienne since she was eight, and dashing toward the grandfather clock that is suddenly starting to chime. 

The pendulum is swinging, back and forth, and the nutcracker picks up speed, ducking down and rushing past just before it blocks the entrance to the clock.

But they aren’t in a clock, Brienne knows the case for the grandfather clock is just wood and glass, nothing behind the pendulum at all.

Instead, they’re in a forest full of pine trees, with snow falling all around. Brienne gasps.

The nutcracker sets her down gently. 

“Your arm!” Brienne cries. She’s forgotten about it, and the nutcracker is holding his arm somewhat gingerly. He shouldn’t have lifted her, especially not injured. Brienne is running a hand over his shoulder before she can remember herself, while the nutcracker gazes up at her.

“You saved me,” he says. He meets her eyes and Brienne blushes. She’s taller than he is, but the nutcracker is staring at her almost tenderly. He raises a hand to brush the side of her head, slightly sore, which must have been where she was hit to cause her to black out.

Brienne suddenly realizes she’s wearing her white nightgown trimmed with lace, a silly indulgence she’d allowed herself because nobody would be around to see how bad she looks, her hair falling down around her shoulders the way no respectable lady should be seen.

The nutcracker steps back, and Brienne expects he’ll turn away in disgust, but instead he takes her hand and bows over it. 

“Forgive me,” he says. “I’m Prince Jaime. Thank you, my lady.”

Brienne bows back, she should curtsey but she knows she can’t, and she doesn’t want to fall on her face in addition to being blotchy and red. 

“Brienne,” she says, softly. “Your Grace.”

Prince Jaime straightens, smiling at her with perfect white teeth.

“My lady Brienne,” Jaime says. “You saved my life. Call me Jaime.”

He steps forward again, shrugging out of his red jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“You’re shivering,” Jaime says softly. Brienne hasn’t realized it, though it is cold, snow freezing her one foot. 

“Where are we?” Brienne asks.

“The enchanted forest.” Jaime gestures at the trees. “My home.” 

Jaime takes Brienne’s hand, leading her through the trees. She looks back over her shoulder. The hole they had run through is gone, blocked with a dull bronze cover that looks much like the clock pendulum. 

Jaime leads Brienne deeper, through towering pine trees while the snow falls all around. It’s quiet and still aside from their footsteps. 

‘How did we get here?” Brienne asks. She stumbles slightly, but Jaime moves to catch her.

“Your foot.” He sounds upset. “I forgot, I’m sorry. We’ll go to my sister’s. She’ll have something.” 

“We ran through a _clock_ ,” Brienne says, bewildered. “This isn’t possible.”

“I’m afraid it is.” Jaime’s hand tightens on hers. “My father Tywin built this clock.” 

“Godfather!” Brienne gasps. “He gave me the — well, you, I suppose.”

Jaime looks at her, mouth falling open in surprise.

“My father built the clock for my mother. She loved it so much. But after she died, mice kept getting inside and chewing on it. Tywin set traps to catch them but it didn’t work. One night, my brother and sister and I were sleeping downstairs on Christmas Eve. The mice came again, but they were big, or we were small, and they took us through the clock to the forest as captives.”

“But _how_?”

Jaime shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. But Cersei and I escaped and found allies in the forest. We haven’t been able to get back through, not until tonight when I — I don’t know, I woke up and suddenly I was there. But the Mouse King still has Tyrion, and I won’t leave until we get him back.”

Jaime is suddenly fierce as he says the last part. Brienne wonders what he’s not saying.

Brienne and Jaime have been winding through the forest as Jaime speaks and suddenly the trees part and before them stands the most fantastic castle Brienne could ever imagine. She gasps out loud taking it in, the towering walls that gleam like sparkles of sugar and the spiraling towers. The roof looks like nothing more than blue candy wafers, coated gently with snow, and the tower roofs look like ribbons of candy winding in gentle pink and white stripes. A bridge cobbled with what could be gumdrops leads over a moat, guarded by soldiers dressed just like Jaime. 

They salute as they pass, Jaime still not letting go of Brienne’s hand. 

Brienne feels like she’s sullying the beautiful palace just by being there, but Jaime doesn’t seem concerned, winding through hallways that sparkle and gleam to a throne room that looks cast out of ice. 

On the throne is the most beautiful woman Brienne has ever seen, so much like Jaime she knows it must be his sister. The woman is slender and petite, dressed in a pink gown with a skirt layered with ruffles and silk and edged in sparkling silver. Curls of golden blonde hair trail down from the elaborate arrangement of braids on her head. 

“Sweet sister,” Jaime greets her. “May I present the lady Brienne, my savior on the battlefield?” 

Brienne bows deeply. 

“My sister Cersei,” Jaime continues. “Queen of the Land of Sugarplums.”

Queen Cersei descends the steps from the sparkling silver throne, her gaze sharp on Brienne. Rather than walking, she dances, delicate steps and graceful twirls.

“A lady on the battlefield,” Cersei says. Her tone makes it clear she has doubts about such a thing, or perhaps whether Brienne is truly a lady. She wouldn’t be the first. 

Jaime clears his throat. 

“However, you have my thanks,” Cersei says. Her voice is slightly warmer. “For helping Prince Jaime return to me.”

“Brienne weakened the Mouse King,” Jaime says. He still has not let go of Brienne’s hand. “This may be our chance. We can get Tyrion.”

Cersei sighs. 

“It’s Christmas Eve, Cersei.” Jaime’s grip tightens almost painfully. “We could get back home.” 

“Like that?” 

Brienne is conscious all over again of her nightgown, her loose hair, Jaime’s red jacket draped over her. Jaime’s shirt is disheveled and slightly torn, his blue pants dirty above scuffed black boots. His hat has disappeared somewhere, Brienne doesn’t know when.

Jaime seems to be registering their appearances as well.

“We’ll find you something to wear,” he tells Brienne.

“Surely not of mine.” Cersei gives a little laugh. “She’ll never fit.”

Brienne feels a hot flush of shame. 

“She’ll fit mine,” Jaime counters. “If you don’t mind breeches, lady Brienne.”

“I prefer them,” Brienne finds herself saying, because Jaime’s face is so hopeful and nervous when he asks her that, such a simple thing. 

A strange look crosses Cersei’s face, but she snaps her fingers and handmaidens in cotton candy colored dresses that float airily around them lead Brienne and Jaime away. Like Cersei, they dance rather than walk, making Brienne feel as if she’s plodding along like a draft horse. The small room Brienne is shown into is just as delicate and pastel, everything like some kind of dream. 

Jaime’s clothes do fit, when one of the handmaids brings them, a uniform just like he was wearing before. Brienne straightens up as she fastens the jacket. Even the boots fit. The handmaid braids Brienne’s hair simply, one long braid down her back. 

There’s a knock on the door and Brienne finds Jaime on the other side, dressed just as she is. He holds a sword out to her. The handle is silver, topped with a gold lion’s head and set with rubies. 

“You gave me a sword when I needed one,” Jaime says. “I should return the favor.”

Brienne looks at the blade. It’s high quality, nicer than anything Brienne has ever seen.

“I can’t,” she says. “That’s yours.”

“And I want to give it to you.” Jaime turns slightly to the side. Brienne sees another matching sword at his waist. “Besides, I have two.” 

He thrusts the sword at her again, and Brienne accepts it. There’s a rush of pride that goes through her as she fixes the scabbard to her belt. This is how a real soldier looks and the kind of blade a real soldier carries. 

Jaime crooks his arm at her, however, like she’s still a lady wearing a delicate gown. Brienne doesn’t know why he’s doing this, but she takes his arm and follows him back to the throne room. 

There is a table set on a platform below the throne, spread with every kind of dessert and sweet Brienne could imagine. Towering stands of cupcakes and layered cakes decorated with frosting flowers and designs. Glass bowls of trifle sit next to trays of fruit tarts and colorful macarons. There are steaming pies and bowls of custard and pudding amidst pyramids of fruit coated in sugar. There are punch bowls full of ice cream and sherbet, gravy boats with chocolate sauce and caramel instead of gravy, more bowls mounded with whipped cream.

Jaime grins at Brienne and they both rush over. Cersei is presiding over the table, a small smile gracing her face. 

“I thought we might have a feast to celebrate your return, brother.” 

Jaime steers Brienne toward a seat at the table, sitting between her and the Queen. 

“A short one,” Jaime says. “We have to look for Tyrion.”

Cersei’s smile seems forced, then. 

“Well, first some entertainment.” Cersei claps her hands and suddenly bunches of children, all dressed like pastel bonbons, rush to the sides of the room. Music starts from somewhere and the children begin dancing and tumbling all over the hall.

Brienne laughs with delight as they perform, piling her plate with all her favorites. Her corset had been so tight at the party she’d hardly been able to eat a thing. But now …

Jaime laughs around a mouthful of cupcake before offering Brienne a platter of tiny tarts. Brienne takes one and finds they taste amazing, delicate plums layered on almond filling. 

Brienne doesn’t know how long they sit there, watching the performance, but eventually the music fades and the children tumble away past the curtains lining the hall.

Jaime takes one last bite of pie and then rises. Brienne hastily swallows her spoonful of custard before joining him. 

“I have to go after Tyrion,” he says. 

Cersei sighs. “It’s dangerous, Jaime. You can’t go traipsing around by yourself. You know the mice can get everywhere except here.”

“He’s our brother,” Jaime says. 

“And he won’t be alone,” Brienne adds. She grips the pommel of her sword. “I’ll go with him.”

Jaime turns and catches her hand. 

“You can stay here, my lady,” he says. “Where it’s safe. You’ve already done so much. This is my quest, not yours.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.” Brienne sets her chin stubbornly. 

Cersei looks between the two of them.

“I can see why my brother likes you so much,” she says to Brienne. Brienne can’t tell if she means that as a good thing or not.

“We’ll have to leave now,” Jaime says. “There isn’t much time.”

“Well, if you must.” Cersei waves them off, dancing behind them to the door with her crowd of tumbling and dancing bon-bon children and cotton candy handmaids. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime search for the Mouse King, a journey that takes Brienne to some fantastic places.

“Where are we going?” Brienne asks Jaime as she follows him back through the forest. 

“The Land of Sugarplums isn’t the only one here,” Jaime says. “There are many others within the enchanted forest. The Mouse King could be anywhere, and Tyrion with him.” 

Brienne isn’t sure how long they walk, but she watches with dismay as the sky grows dark.

“It isn’t Christmas Eve anymore,” Brienne says, as Jaime finds a spot and lays out their cloaks to sleep. “What if you can’t get back?”

To her surprise, Jaime laughs. 

“Time doesn’t work the same here,” he says. “Here, many years have passed since I arrived, full of days and weeks and months. But Cersei and I are only one year older than when we were taken.”

“So we have a chance,” Brienne says. 

Jaime nods. “After all, we’ve only heard the first chime.”

Brienne remembers it, as they ran through, and Jaime’s words almost seem like a prophecy when the whole forest shakes with the familiar chime of the clock. 

Brienne almost doesn’t want to sleep, but she’s so tired that she can’t help it. They wake early, and it isn’t long before Jaime is leading them to a clearing. It’s a different style than before, squarish white buildings with graceful arches and courtyards. The streets and sidewalks are all shades of brown that look familiar. 

Brienne can’t place it until they’re walking and something sweet invades her nose. 

“Is this _chocolate_?” she asks. 

“Indeed.” The male voice is heavily accented, from a handsome man with olive skin and black hair. “Welcome to the Land of Chocolate.” 

Brienne spins around. Now that he’s said it, she can see the walls of the buildings are white chocolate, the roofs chocolate as well. It’s impossible, but then so is everything about this night.

“Oberyn,” Jaime says shortly. “We’re looking for the Mouse King.”

Oberyn is dressed in tight-fitting black pants with a white shirt and red cumberbund, a cropped black jacket embroidered in gold above them. He stands from where he’s leaning against a lamp post and slinks, there’s no other word for it, toward them.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Oberyn leans over, kissing Brienne’s hand with flourish. 

“The Mouse King, Oberyn.” Jaime scowls at him. 

Oberyn won’t be swayed, not until Jaime grudgingly introduces Brienne and allows Oberyn to lead them to a palace that towers above everything. Oberyn takes them to a large table and snaps his fingers. 

Servers bring urns full of hot chocolate, along with piles of chocolate candies and truffles, cakes and pastries oozing with chocolate filling.

“I’m trying to rescue Tyrion,” Jaime says. “The Mouse King — Brienne injured him. He’s weaker.”

Oberyn gives Brienne an appraising look. 

“He’s still dangerous.” Oberyn sips his coffee.

“I’ll risk it.” Jaime sounds grim.

“First allow me to show you some hospitality.” Oberyn snaps his fingers again. Several women approach, all dressed in dresses like Brienne has never seen. 

The tops of the dresses are tight and fitted, so much so that Brienne blushes, with plunging necklines. The skirts are wide and flowing, adorned with ruffles, but without the stiffness of hoops or layers of petticoats, swishing around the legs of the women as they walk. All the dresses are red and black, heavily decorated with lace. Surprisingly, they all have small, curved swords attached to their waists. One woman, whose dress is entirely red and tighter than the rest, staying that way until mid-calf where it bursts into a series of ruffles, saunters forward to perch on Oberyn’s lap.

“My paramour, Ellaria,” Oberyn says. The pair kiss so passionately Brienne has to look away. She turns toward Jaime, who is clenching his jaw. Brienne lays a hand over his comfortingly. 

“My daughters,” Oberyn offers, gesturing toward the other women. Again, music starts up, as if from nowhere, and the women begin to dance. 

Brienne understands why their skirts lack structure when the women begin to twirl and spin, flying out around the women in an amazing display. They move their feet so fast, faster than Brienne has seen, loud tapping noises in time with the music. When the women move, they sway their hips and seem to almost flow with the music before suddenly going into sharp spins and displays of footwork.

Jaime is tapping his fingers with impatience by the time the dancers finish. 

“The Mouse King,” he says to Oberyn.

“I have not seen him,” Oberyn says. “Jaime. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Finally, Oberyn bids them farewell, though not before clasping Brienne’s hand and inviting her to stay with him and Ellaria, waggling his eyebrows in a way that is positively scandalous. 

The chocolate is lovely, but it’s a relief to leave Oberyn’s uncomfortably intense gaze behind. Brienne doesn’t know what to do with such attention. As she and Jaime are crossing into the forest again, another chime shakes everything. 

“Three,” Brienne says. 

They walk for a while before Brienne finds the courage to ask Jaime another question. 

“How is this possible? We’re in a clock — or we should be.”

“My father built this clock for my mother,” Jaime says. “He’s … well, you’ve met him.”

“He’s kind,” Brienne says. “But he doesn’t seem very magical.”

Jaime’s face screws up.

“Kind??” Then he shakes his head. “My father is … my father. But my mother was special. He gave this clock to her and she cherished it. I think this is hers. Somehow.”

“It’s beautiful,” Brienne says. 

Jaime smiles.

“It is,” he says. “But it’s not home.”

After a while, another clearing emerges. This one leads to a city full of long, domed buildings with graceful arches decorated in geometric designs in shades of brown. The streets are cobbled with what Brienne quickly identifies as coffee beans.

“The Land of Coffee,” Jaime confirms. He walks quickly to a palace where they’re led into a courtyard strewn with large pillows and low tables. A woman is reclining at one of them, dark hair tumbling down her back in waves, eyes outlined in kohl. She’s wearing breeches, but hers are loose and gauzy, in shades of teal and blue. Her bodice is small, baring her stomach and the swell of her breasts, which threaten to burst free.

“Jaime,” the woman says, voice low and sultry. “I have hoped you would visit.”

Jaime introduces Brienne to the woman, whom he calls Shae. Brienne isn’t quite sure where to look as she shakes Shae’s hand, and settles for somewhere over her shoulder. 

“Such an innocent,” Shae says. She sounds amused. “Is that what you prefer, golden lion?”

Jaime doesn’t address the question, but tells Shae the same as he told Oberyn. Shae shakes her head, her curls tumbling about. 

“But it’s getting dark,” Shae says. “You can’t go on now. Stay the night.”

Brienne and Jaime are led to chambers full of brightly colored pillows and mattresses so soft. They’re given neighboring rooms, though Shae fixes them with a look and offers to have them share. She laughs when Brienne splutters a disagreement, sauntering down the hall as she leaves them.

The bed is one of the softest Brienne has ever slept in, and it seems like only a blink of an eye before sunlight is streaming across her face. Brienne finds her way down the hallways to the courtyard from before, where Shae is once again reclining on the cushions. Her clothing is shades of orange today, and she welcomes Brienne to join her. 

Brienne still blushes to see so much skin on display, but she can’t help wishing she could find trousers like Shae has, that are not gowns but not masculine either. Jaime joins them soon after, and servers appear to deliver silver pots of thick, strong coffee and platters full of tiny dishes of food. There are olives and soft cheese, flatbreads and slices of cucumber, flavorful dips Brienne doesn’t recognize and eggs cooked in spicy tomato sauce. 

Brienne is not entirely surprised when Shae gestures and a group of dancers appear. They’re attired similarly to Shae, with the addition of veils that trail behind them and cover the lower half of their faces, and golden belts with dangling strands of coins that jingle when they move.

The dancers begin to move when hypnotic music plays. They bend and undulate in ways that make Brienne wonder if there are any bones left in their bodies as they move across the courtyard. Sometimes the women shake their hips and breasts as fast as hummingbird’s wings, then return to the graceful arching and moving. Even their stomachs undulate in a smooth motion. 

Jaime gives Shae an impatient look when the dancing finally ends. 

“I haven’t seen him,” Shae says. “If I had seen Tyrion I —”

Then she breaks off and looks away. 

The chime sounds for a fourth time as they leave.

“Shae was on the Mouse King’s side, once,” Jaime explains when they return to the forest. “She knows Tyrion.” 

They walk through the forest again, after leaving Shae’s, and they don’t reach any other clearings before the sky starts to get dark. They spend another night in the forest, spreading their cloaks over the snow. Jaime insists Brienne sleep closest to the trees, his own body between her and the wind. 

“How do you think your mother came to this place?” Brienne asks.

Jaime considers it for a while. 

“I’m not sure,” he says. “But she was … she could make even Tywin smile and laugh, a room light up when she walked in. She was more beautiful than Cersei and as smart as Tyrion. If anyone could create something like this, it would be my mother.”

The sun is still rising in the sky the next morning when they come to another clearing. By now, Brienne is prepared for the fantastic, but it still takes her breath away. The clearing is filled with squat, square buildings and pagodas full of elaborate designs. There are bushes everywhere, gently coated with snow, and sweeping hills behind that look somehow off. 

“The Land of Tea,” Jaime says. Brienne realizes the hills are not earth, but mounds of dried tea leaves surrounding everything. 

The largest pagoda is where Jaime goes. A man is seated on a cushion, eyes closed. He’s wearing what looks like a simple dress of richly embroidered silk with side sleeves. It crosses in the front.

Brienne thinks there is something to this land where women wear trousers and men dresses and nobody seems to mind. 

“I see you think the Mouse King is weak enough to be defeated, Jaime Lannister.” The man doesn’t open his eyes or give any other signs he has heard them approach.

Brienne starts, but Jaime seems unsurprised. The man, it is revealed, is Illyrio, and he welcomes them to a low table where they sit on cushions, again around a low table. 

“There’s no point asking him anything until we’ve had tea,” Jaime whispers to Brienne. 

A woman appears, carrying a tray. She is dressed similarly to Illyrio, but in a straight skirt of cheerful yellow, an embroidered wrap tunic with wide sleeves on top tied with a wide sash the same color as the skirt. Her hair is in a simple bun, and she inclines her head to Illyrio as she sets down the tray.

From there, Brienne loses track of the steps of what is clearly a very practiced ritual. The woman passes around a bowl of dried tea, which Illyrio sniffs deeply, and so Brienne does likewise. Jaime hardly glances at it before passing it along. 

Then the woman is moving gracefully as she pours water into a teapot, into cups, from one pot to another, turning cups over and back again with ease. Finally she hands cups filled with tea to all three of them. There are no handles on the cups, and Brienne warms her hands on the china.

Then several older women come out bearing baskets full of dumplings and buns. There are all sizes and kinds. Thick, doughy buns filled with flavorful pork, shrimp-filled ones with thin wrappings, crescent-shaped dumplings fried until slightly crisp. There are sweet balls of something covered in sesame seeds, tarts filled with eggy custard, and small bread buns filled with coconut. 

Brienne grins at Jaime over a plate of buns as music once again starts to play. Dancers rush out, all in colorful silk costumes. The women dance gracefully with fans, while the men are more athletic, bending deep and springing up again with ease. But what really catches Brienne’s attention is the pole, which she’s ignored, in one corner of the pagoda. Men appear, using their hands and feet to work up the pole, and begin performing acrobatics in mid-air, even managing to hang on with only their hands as they stretch their bodies out to the side, like flags in the breeze. Brienne claps in delight.

The only thing that takes away from her joy is the chime that shakes the pagoda midway through the dance.

_Five_ , Brienne thinks. Their time is running out. 

When the dancers depart, Jaime fixes Illyrio with a hard look.

“My brother is still in his clutches,” Jaime says. 

Illyrio sighs.

“I have heard that Drogo may know,” Illyrio offers. He looks wholly unconcerned. “If you really wish to continue this foolish quest.”

“I do,” Jaime bites out. 

They walk faster through the forest, or so it seems. Brienne can’t even bring herself to ask more, not when Jaime is striding angrily ahead.

The next clearing they reach is full of waves of grass, only the grass, when Brienne looks closely, is strips of flat, gummy candy. It isn’t long before they reach a group of huts that appear to be made of peppermint sticks and covered with strands of licorice woven together.

The man they find in the center is tall and broad, even taller than Brienne. He’s dressed in layered tunics over blousy breeches, a round fur hat on his head. He has a beard that goes almost to his waist and a braid that is even longer. 

The man introduces himself as Drogo, reaching his arm out and clasping Jaime’s elbow, then doing the same with Brienne. 

“The Mouse King,” Jaime says. “I heard you’ve seen him.”

Drogo nods slowly. 

“He came through a few weeks ago,” Drogo says. “Qhono fought him.”

Drogo nods at a man off to one side. His hair is short, and he looks sullen as he lurks off to the edges of the camp. 

Jaime makes a frustrated noise.

“That’s no good,” he says. “I’ve seen him since.”

“And yet you survive.”

“He’s weaker,” Jaime says. “Brienne got him good.”

Brienne turns red as Drogo looks at her with new interest, asking how she managed such a feat.

“With my shoe,” Brienne admits.

Drogo barks out a laugh.

“A good fighter uses what he has,” Drogo says. “You’re a good fighter, then.”

“She’s good with a sword too,” Jaime says, sounding almost proud. 

“A strong woman,” Drogo says. “Good hips. Face …” 

Brienne hangs her head.

“She’d birth good warriors,” Drogo continues, not noticing or caring about Brienne’s discomfort. “If she’d like to stay with us.”

Jaime lets out a noise that sounds a lot like a growl and scoots closer to Brienne. It gives her an odd, fluttery feeling in her stomach. Especially when Jaime looks at Drogo and snarls that Brienne’s face is just fine, which is patently untrue but so kind anyway.

Brienne is not surprised when Drogo bids them to sit down and stay for a meal and the night, warning of the cold. Brienne can’t see the forest anymore, from where they are, and she shivers to think of spending the night out in the biting wind.

Though they are surrounded by candy, when Drogo shouts, men and women surge forward carrying trays of savory dishes Brienne is glad to have. They begin with a vibrant red soup, tasting of beets and filled with mushrooms and served with thick black bread. Then there are skewers of grilled meat (Brienne decides not to look too closely at the horses all around as she eats) with pickled cabbage and cucumber. There are even thin pancakes filled with sweet cream filling. Though Drogo also snaps off a blade of candy grass and offers it to Brienne with a wink.

Jaime growls and scoots closer.

While they eat, the music once again appears and dancers rush out. These are the most acrobatic yet, and Brienne watches wide-eyed as they leap and shout. The men crouch low, feet moving impossibly fast even as they almost reach the ground and then leap back up again. 

It’s dark by the time they finish, and Brienne and Jaime are led to a hut. Jaime insists they not be separated, muttering about not trusting any of the men around. 

Brienne can’t help laughing at him, breaking off a small piece of candy from one hut and sucking on the peppermint as they unroll their cloaks and the blankets Drogo provided. 

Brienne is woken before dawn, with the chime of the clock ringing in her ears. 

“Does Cersei want to go home?” Brienne has been wanting to ask Jaime since the Sugarplum palace, but she waits until they’re in the forest again, full from the bowls of milky porridge Drogo insisted they take before leaving.

“I’m not sure,” Jaime says. He looks at Brienne. “Cersei likes being queen.”

“Do you like being a prince?” 

Jaime shrugs. “I’d rather be with the people I love.” 

Brienne can’t help wondering if there’s a woman Jaime left behind. He looks to be a few years older than her, certainly of age to be betrothed. Maybe that’s why he’s trying so hard to get back. It makes Brienne terribly sad to think about, and not just because it would be tragic for him.

Brienne doesn’t know why Jaime keeps acting as he does, grabbing onto her hand as they approach new lands, taking her arm to escort her. But the enchanted forest seems a very lonely place, and that must have something to do with it.

The next place they arrive is full of cottages that look familiar enough to home to make Brienne’s heart ache. 

Jaime heads to the edge of town, where a blonde woman is sitting outside. She has on a blue jumper over a white blouse. She’s surrounded by three dragons.

Brienne takes a step back before realizing the dragons look to be made of marzipan. Which doesn’t make any sense, because Brienne can see them breathing, but the molded appearance is unmistakable, as is the scent of almond.

“Jaime.” Her tone is icy.

“Dany.” Jaime’s tone is equally cold.

Dany, or Daenerys, hardly warms up at all when she greets Brienne. But she strokes one of the dragons on the neck before leading them to one of the cottages.

“Don’t let anyone say I don’t offer hospitality,” Dany says. “Even to you.” 

They sit on chairs made of marzipan, at a table made of marzipan. Serving girls carry out trays of open-faced sandwiches, thin slices of dark bread topped with all manner of things. Brienne tries roast pork with crispy skin topped with red cabbage, another with tiny shrimp, one with egg salad. 

Dancers perform a dance that reminds Brienne strongly of the dances at home. She feels a sudden pang of longing for the Christmas party, even though she’d been stuck on the sides most of the night. Still, she had seen her friends dancing, watched Sansa’s red hair flying as she spun, seen Arya making faces at her partner. She’d heard her father’s booming laugh and watched Galladon and Robb and Jon and Theon run around the room. 

Dany tells them, when the dancing ends, she hasn’t seen the Mouse King.

“I won’t risk my dragons,” she says, tilting her chin up. 

“We won’t need them,” Jaime tells her, pulling Brienne away as the clock chimes for the seventh time. 

Brienne doesn’t even have to ask Jaime why Dany is so cold; he starts talking as soon as they’re in the forest. 

“Daenerys’ father supported the Mouse King,” Jaime says. “He held the Land of Marzipan for his forces. But Aerys lied about it. He told Cersei he was aligned with us and feared for his life. Cersei sent me to guard him.”

Jaime stops in his tracks, swallowing heavily before he continues. 

“I realized it was a trap, he meant to turn it all over to the mice. He was going to melt down the whole land if he had to. I killed him, I stabbed him in the back before he could do it. He didn’t realize I knew his treachery, he still trusted me, turned his back to me and I didn’t wait for him to face me, like a soldier.”

Brienne is embracing Jaime before she even thinks about it. He stills, then wraps his arms around her in return, holding her close with a strength that borders on painful. Jaime smells like sugar and vanilla, and Brienne can’t help inhaling deeply as Jaime buries his face in her shoulder. 

“Dany hates me.” Jaime’s voice is muffled against Brienne’s jacket. “And she should.”

“It’s not your fault,” Brienne says. “He was going to give you to the Mouse King. You saved everyone there.” 

They’re quiet as they walk the rest of the way. Brienne smells the next land before they reach it, spicy and sweet.

“The Land of Gingerbread?” she guesses.

Jaime grins at her. 

“Exactly.” 

Jaime doesn’t need to lead Brienne to find the person in charge, for the plump woman with skirts wide enough to fill a room is immediately apparent. She giggles at them in greeting, leaning over to kiss Jaime on both cheeks and do the same to Brienne. 

“First we eat,” Mother Walda exclaims, after introductions. “You’re looking too thin.”

Brienne looks over at Jaime, who looks as tall and muscular as ever. She certainly doesn’t feel thin, not after all the food they’ve been offered as they search. 

Mother Walda tugs on some strings, and her skirts rise a bit. Suddenly small gingerbread men are tumbling out, decorated in icing and sugar sprinkles. They dance and frolic to music as Mother Walda breaks pieces of gingerbread off a nearby house to offer to Brienne and Jaime.

“There’s always more to be made,” she says. But her face falls when Jaime tells her what they’re doing.

“You can’t,” Mother Walda cries. “It’s dangerous!”

She refuses to hear any argument, insisting on putting Brienne and Jaime up for the night. The clock chimes as they’re falling asleep. Brienne’s eyes close with the smell of cinnamon surrounding her, wondering at the fear on Mother Walda’s face. 

“It’s far too risky,” Mother Walda says again in the morning.

“You don’t know what he can do, dear,” Mother Walda says to Brienne. She starts rebraiding Brienne’s hair, which has begun falling out of its ties as they travel. “There’s no standing up to the Mouse King.”

“Brienne already wounded him,” Jaime says. “I can’t face him alone, but together we have a chance. Even more if we had help.”

Mother Walda gasps, clutching a hand to her chest. “I could never send my children to slaughter.” 

“Tyrion is my brother,” Jaime insists. 

Mother Walda finally tells them the Mouse King has last been seen in the Land of Flowers. She cries into a handkerchief as they leave. 

Brienne waits until they’ve walked a while before she asks another question she’s wanted to ask Jaime for a while. “Why were you so surprised when I said godfather was kind?”

“Tywin?” Jaime laughs bitterly. “I’m never good enough for him. No one is. I was too slow, too lazy, too weak.”

Brienne doesn’t think any of those words could be used to describe Jaime and she says so.

“Do you know why we were in the living room when we were taken?” Jaime takes a deep breath. “My brother Tyrion, he’s still a child. He’s never had a real Christmas. Not since mother died giving birth to him. Father forbids it. Cersei and I were trying to give him one, we’d snuck out and bought a tree and presents.” 

It makes Brienne sad enough to cry. She tries to stifle the noise, but Jaime hears her. This time he embraces her. 

“It’s so unfair to you,” Brienne says. “Every family should have Christmas”

She isn’t sure if she should say it or not, but Brienne gathers her courage.

“When we get home, you should have Christmas with us. My father would love to have you all.”

Jaime’s smile is as dazzling as the sun when he pulls away. He takes Brienne’s hand again, and doesn’t let go, even though they’re just walking. 

Brienne is glad he did it though, because when they reach the next clearing, she feels like she might be sick.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the Nutcracker saga.

It must have been a beautiful place once. There are meadows that should be filled with flowers, and the snow has somehow stopped falling here. It almost feels warm, even. The buildings are covered with vines and there are plants everywhere Brienne looks.

But the meadows have been trampled, blossoms crushed and torn underfoot. The buildings are damaged, walls crumbling down. A few flowers are blooming on the vine, but most are wilting and falling off. The castle at the center has scorch marks on one side. 

“The Mouse King,” Jaime says grimly. 

He and Brienne pick their way across the meadow. The whole place is eerily silent. 

“Olenna!” Jaime shouts into the castle as they reach it. There’s no answer and Jaime leads Brienne in. Most of the rooms are empty, until they reach a room with a large table. There’s an ornate chair at one end, where an older woman with a headdress adorned with roses sits. She’s slumped to one side, barely breathing.

“Olenna!” Jaime rushes over. He shakes her gently, until her eyes flutter open. 

“Oh, Jaime. He was here.” Olenna moves to stand, but stumbles, catching herself on Jaime’s arm. 

Brienne spies a walking stick on the floor and rushes to bring it over.

Olenna looks her up and down as she takes the stick, leaning on it heavily.

“My dear, you are absolutely singular.” Olenna favors Brienne with a smile. “Jaime, wherever did you find her?”

“Home,” Jaime says. There’s a certain warmth in his voice as he says it that sends a shiver down Brienne’s spine. 

“You must come.” Olenna leads them to another room, waving off any attempts at help. 

Olenna settles them at a table outside in a large garden. She snaps her fingers, and eventually a servant in a rose-colored dress appears. Olenna orders the girl to find her grandchildren, then turns back to Brienne and Jaime.

“I can’t offer you much,” Olenna says, apologetically. Another servant rushes up, blossoms in her hair, and sets down a tray with a small bottle of wine, glasses, and a plate of cheese. 

“You’ve been in a battle,” Brienne says. “You don’t have to offer us anything.”

“Haven’t explained much, have you?” Olenna gives Jaime a sharp look.

“Hospitality is part of our magic,” Olenna explains as she pours wine. “Connection is the root of all magic, after all, and love and friendship are the strongest connections you find. And those can’t begin unless we meet each other with open hearts and homes.”

She nods approvingly as two people around Brienne’s age approach. The girl is small with dark hair and mischievous eyes. The man is taller, with blond curls that make him look like an angel. Both are dressed in flowing clothes that make Brienne think of a garden in full bloom.

When the music plays, they begin to dance. It’s slow and sad at first, the girl up on her toes and spinning slowly with the support of the man, who also lifts her with ease.

But as they dance, something begins to happen. Brienne looks around and sees the flowers that have been drooping start to perk up. The leaves seem a brighter green, somehow. The air filling with the perfume of a summer day. And more dancers appear, creeping from behind bushes and hedges, their movements becoming brighter and more upbeat.

By the time the song ends, they are smiling. The garden is not quite in full bloom, and the walls Brienne can see are still damaged, but the vines climbing them have new buds bursting forth. 

The two dancers who appeared first join them at the table. Olenna introduces them as her grandchildren, Margaery and Loras. 

“He has to be stopped,” Olenna says. “He won’t, not until everything is gone.”

Jaime explains the battle under the tree, how Brienne helped. 

“I know we can defeat him together,” Jaime says. “I know we can get Tyrion and I can go home.”

“Oh, my dear boy.” Olenna cups Jaime’s cheek. “It may not be so simple.” 

“I just need to find where he’s headed,” Jaime says. “Do you know?”

The chime sounds again as Jaime speaks. Nine. 

“Don’t you?” Olenna shakes her head. “You’re the only one the Mouse King has feared, Jaime. Where would he go but where you aren’t?”

Jaime pales.

“Cersei,” he whispers.

Olenna nods. She offers her army’s aid, though she admits it has been much diminished by recent events.

Brienne eyes their surroundings doubtfully.

“An army of flowers?” Brienne says, and then feels guilty for being so rude. 

Margaery gives her a sly smile. 

“That’s the thing about roses,” Margaery says. “We have thorns.”

So this time when they start into the forest, they’re followed by a small contingent of soldiers. They may be dressed in pink, but they carry sharp swords and determined expressions. Brienne and Jaime are mounted on white horses given to them by Olenna. She had kissed both of their cheeks before they left. 

It’s easy to see where they’re headed this time, as there’s a path of fallen branches and trampled snow. 

The Sugarplum palace looks far different than it did when they left. The bridge is drawn up, and a few soldiers are bravely guarding it against waves and waves of mouse soldiers. Many more bodies lie on the ground. 

In one of the towers a bell is swinging back and forth, the clanging echoing in Brienne’s ears.

“She’s calling for help,” Jaime says. “But it will be too late.”

“Not if we can help it.” Loras draws his sword and looks out from atop his horse.

They’re hopelessly outnumbered. Nobody in their right mind would go ahead, not with these odds. But Jaime’s face is twisted with pain and grief. 

All of his family is at risk, Brienne knows. She nods at him.

“Charge!” Jaime shouts. 

The mice are at least taken by surprise when they arrive, so focused on the castle in front they’re slow to notice the soldiers advancing from behind. Brienne charges through on her horse until it stumbles, and then she’s on her feet, swinging her sword and trying to remember everything she’s learned.

Brienne thinks of Galladon in the yard facing her. She wonders if she’ll ever see him again. It’s distracting enough for Brienne to miss the mouse soldier approaching, and all she sees is his blade flying toward her until suddenly it’s gone and Jaime is there, gripping his sword in his hands. 

“Stay with me,” he orders.

It feels hopeless, more and more mice advancing on them. Brienne hears shouts, sees Margaery directing her troops from her horse, Loras being backed against the wall of the castle. Then it’s just mice and mice. Brienne stumbles, or Jaime does, she can’t tell, but they’re both on the ground and Brienne is holding her breath because this is it, and she’s never going to see Galladon or her father ever again. 

At least she’s with Jaime, but then suddenly the mouse advancing on them is gone, and one of Drogo’s horsemen is grinning down at her. 

“You’re missing the fight,” he says. 

Brienne pulls Jaime to his feet. 

“We have to find the king,” Jaime says. “There’s too many of them. But if the king dies, it’s over.”

Brienne points to a hill. “We can see more over there.” 

They fight their way to higher ground. Brienne sees more men from Drogo’s camp, on horseback fighting fiercely, Oberyn’s daughter’s wielding swords as well as all the men. There are men that look to be from Shae’s army with large curved swords and men from Illyrio’s who dart through the mice with swiftness and agility. There are even gingerbread men from Mother Walda, despite what she said, though they don’t seem to be as effective as any of the other armies. 

It’s chaos and battle. Soldiers from their side fall, and the mice never seem to stop coming. Brienne wonders why she ever dreamed of this. She may not want to be a lady but to be a soldier is terrible, if it’s like this. 

“There!” Brienne shouts. On the far edge of the field is a large tent with the Mouse King in front, his crown glinting in the sunlight.

“That’s where he’ll have Tyrion,” Jaime says.

The clock chimes and the earth shakes.

“That’s ten,” Brienne says. “We’re running out of time.”

They hardly speak as they fight their way across, moving together without needing to. It feels like dancing, though not any of the dancing they’ve seen, and for a moment Brienne wants to laugh, so out of place in this misery, because she’s never felt like she understands someone as well as she understands Jaime right now. 

It seems to take them forever to get across to where the tent is. At one point, Brienne thinks it is certainly over, but there’s a roar in the sky and she looks up to see Dany circling the field on top of her marzipan dragon. 

“Dracarys,” she shouts, and the dragon breathes a fiery path in front of Brienne. Jaime almost stops fighting in shock, until Brienne urges him on toward the tent.

The Mouse King is surrounded by guards, but Jaime and Brienne manage to defeat them with great effort. 

The Mouse King is another story. He fights both of them like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. Brienne doesn’t dodge quickly enough one time and his sword slices the shoulder of her jacket, drawing blood underneath. Brienne is shouting she’s okay as soon as it happens, but Jaime is distracted enough to almost get hit himself. 

The screams from the tent are almost lost in the clashing of swords, but when they hear them, Jaime’s head jerks up.

“Tyrion!”

Jaime turns to Brienne. 

“You have to get Tyrion,” he yells.

Brienne blocks another strike from the Mouse King.

“I can’t leave you!” 

“You have to!” Jaime dodges another strike, then attempts one of his own. He manages to nick the Mouse King’s leg, but not hard enough for him to fall. 

“He’s too strong.”

“He’s not!” Jaime blocks the Mouse King’s sword with his own, both weapons still in midair as neither gives up.

“You have to get Tyrion,” Jaime shouts again. “He’s what I’ve been doing this all for.”

The desperation in Jaime’s voice is what makes Brienne turn toward the tent.

“Brienne!” Jaime yells when she’s almost inside, having dispatched another guard that appeared from somewhere. “If I don’t — get Tyrion home. Even if I can’t. Promise.”

“I promise,” Brienne yells back. Even though the thought of leaving Jaime makes her feel the way she had when she’d set eyes on the Land of Flowers.

There are few guards inside the tent and Brienne makes quick work of them. At the back a small boy is chained to the floor. 

He has the same golden blond hair as Jaime and Cersei, but nothing else is the same. Mismatched eyes stare at Brienne from a face that reminds her, somewhat, of her own, like a puzzle where the pieces don’t quite fit. He’s small, too, far shorter than he should be for his age, head and torso out of proportion to his legs.

“Tyrion,” Brienne says. She sets to work trying to find a way to unchain him. “Jaime sent me.”

Tyrion’s face lights up as soon as she says Jaime’s name. “Jaime’s okay?”

“He’s been looking for you,” Brienne says. “Ever since he escaped.”

Tyrion looks like he can’t believe it. Brienne finally finds the keys, undoing the locks and helping Tyrion to his feet. The boy stares up at her. 

“Why is everyone so tall?” Tyrion complains. Brienne grabs his hand and pulls him toward the tent flap, but they fall to the floor when another chime sounds, shaking the ground even harder.

“Eleven,” Brienne says. “We’re almost out of time.” 

She yanks Tyrion up again, and they burst out of the tent. Jaime is still fighting the Mouse King and he’s tiring, Brienne can see it.

“Go,” Jaime shouts, when he sees her hesitate. “Get him home.”

Brienne promised, she did, but she can’t leave Jaime. She drops Tyrion’s hand and rushes forward, striking at the Mouse King. He blocks her easily, but the distraction, somehow, is enough. Jaime lunges forward, plunging his sword into the Mouse King’s heart. 

Suddenly, the mice fall back. Their swords fall to their feet and Brienne watches, mouth wide, as they shrink back to the small rodents she is used to, scurrying away underfoot.

Jaime drops his sword and rushes to his brother, dropping to his knees and hugging Tyrion tightly. 

It’s a touching reunion, but Brienne is looking nervously to the forest. 

“The chimes,” she reminds Jaime. 

Jaime doesn’t let go of Tyrion’s hand, but he grabs Brienne’s as well while they make their way to the palace. The drawbridge is slowly lowering, and by the time they reach it, Cersei has danced her way forward. 

“You did it.” She sounds stunned.

“We can go home,” Jaime says. “But we have to hurry.” 

Cersei hesitates.

“Home, Cersei.” Jaime looks at her pleadingly. 

“We’ll never make it in time,” Cersei says. “The clock has struck eleven times. Christmas Eve is almost over.”

“Take these.” Margaery materializes from somewhere, leading two horses. Margaery’s dress is torn, her face is smudged with dirt and she’s got a bandage on one arm. “Go where you belong.”

Tyrion rides in front of Brienne, while Cersei joins Jaime on his horse as they gallop through the forest. Cersei keeps looking back, though Brienne doesn’t know why. She wishes she could tell how much time there is left.

Not much, it seems, because when they finally reach the opening Brienne first entered through, the shadow of the pendulum is already heavy along it.

They’ve all just dismounted when Cersei freezes.

“I can’t go,” she says. 

“What are you talking about?” Jaime shakes her by her shoulders. “We can go home.”

Cersei looks around at the snow falling on the trees. 

“You belong there,” Cersei says. “You’ll get to marry who you wish, take father’s business over. I’ll be betrothed to whoever he decides, and get nothing. Here I’m the queen.”

“But we’ll be together,” Jaime says. “All of us.”

Cersei cups his face in her hands. “We’re growing up, Jaime. We can’t stay together forever. Even if we go home.” 

Brienne looks over. The edge of the pendulum is starting to slide over the entrance to the forest. 

“Jaime,” she says. 

Cersei turns to Brienne. 

“You love my brother,” Cersei says. She ignores Brienne’s sputtering attempt at denial. “I can’t say you’re what I would have chosen for him, but take care of him anyway. He needs it.”

Then, before anyone can say any more, Cersei is dancing back into the trees, a light sound of music trailing in her wake. 

Jaime is staring after her, and Brienne pulls at his hand.

“There’s no time,” she says. Tyrion is already stepping toward the opening as the pendulum moves and the space grows smaller and smaller. 

Brienne thinks it won’t work, thinks she’ll have to choose between the life she knows and this strange land of enchantment. But suddenly Jaime is moving, running alongside Brienne, both of them practically lifting Tyrion off the ground as they dive for the shrinking space.

The clock chimes twelve.

Brienne wakes up slowly, eyes blinking. Her bed feels strangely hard, and she’s shivering slightly. 

The smell of bacon and hot coffee fills Brienne’s senses, and she thinks of her dream. It’s so strange, how real it all seemed. The land of candy and impossible things. An army of mice. Brienne squeezes her eyes closed, trying to hold onto the dream as long as she can.

A dream of a nutcracker prince, the most handsome man Brienne has ever seen, who looked at her like she mattered. 

Brienne’s heart feels like it’s breaking in two as she thinks about it, thinks about how that feeling will never be hers again.

“Brienne, there you are!” Septa Roelle sounds angry. Brienne doesn’t know why, but she finally opens her eyes.

Brienne finds herself face to face with a pile of wrapped gifts. Blinking, she sits up. She’s wearing her nightgown, just as she had when she went to bed, but she’s on the parlor floor. 

“What on earth were you doing?” Septa Roelle asks. She doesn’t give Brienne a chance to respond. “This is unladylike behavior, sneaking out of bed at night.”

“I don’t know,” Brienne says slowly. “I had the strangest dream.”

“And your head in the clouds again,” Septa Roelle sniffs. She pulls Brienne to her feet. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, young —” 

Septa Roelle cuts off with a shriek. 

Brienne follows her eyes where she’s looking and her heart almost stops in her chest.

Slumped on the sofa are a handsome blond man and a short boy with the same hair curled against him. Both of them startle awake at the noise.

“Selwyn!” Septa Roell runs off, shouting. “There are intruders!”

Brienne takes a step forward.

“Jaime?”

Jaime is looking around. 

“We did it,” he says. “It’s real.”

Tyrion is looking at the room. “It’s not our home.”

“It’s mine,” Brienne says. “Tywin gave my father the clock two years ago.”

She takes another step toward Jaime, who takes one toward her. They’re close now, close enough for Brienne to reach out a trembling hand and touch Jaime’s cheek.

“You’re real,” she says. Jaime puts his hand over hers, holding it to his face before she can retreat.

“I’m real,” Jaime says. He takes a small step closer, so close Brienne can feel the heat from his body.

“What my sister said to you,” Jaime says. “Is it true?”

Brienne flushes and looks away. 

“I would never presume anything,” Brienne says. “Not of a man like yourself, I assure you, I —”

“Is it true?” Jaime asks again. He puts his other hand on Brienne’s waist, tugging her toward him. 

“Yes,” Brienne admits, looking at the floor. “But I promise I won’t —”

Jaime cuts her off again, this time with his lips. Brienne has never been kissed before, knows this is certainly most unladylike behavior, but she doesn’t care. She wraps her arms around Jaime. He tastes like candy, like sugar and sweetness and everything good.

Jaime doesn’t let go of her when he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. 

“I’m home,” Jaime says. “Finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this happened. Still have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this, but I was on cold medicine. And it was Christmas. And my mother was staying with me. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this trip into the weird ideas from my brain!

**Author's Note:**

> It was Christmas, I was watching several versions of the Nutcracker, including the Nutcracker and the Four Realms and I got SO MAD at how badly they did plot and I decided I could do better and so this happened? I think?


End file.
